Thursday, December 13, 2007

Thinking About Death is Fun!

UPDATE: Getting Truth-y
I wrote this entry because I had one too many glasses of red wine. Okay, that's a lie. I had one glass of red wine. Which is even worse, because I wasn't even drunk enough to justify why I would write a post like this. EXCEPT: It was a great, fun way to avoid Part 3 of "How It All Began" which I swear, I will get too shortly, unless I can think of some other embarassing INNER WORKINGS OF MY MIND

I don't know why I always think about death this time of year. It's two days before the celebration of me shooting out of my mother's loins (my birthday. What? I was trying to be colorful.)

Anyway, a few weeks ago I said to my friend L, "If I die, I want to have my spec sitcom scripts paper mached around my feet like boots and then I would like to be SHOT OUT OF A CANON. Make that happen." (Which, if she comes up against my mother, she WILL NEVER MAKE THAT HAPPEN.)

Then I was looking through old emails of exactly this time last year and found one to L, again, requesting what I would like to happen to me if I died. (WARNING: MUCH WINE WAS CONSUMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS EMAIL, as I had by now, spent over one month, unexpectedly in my childhood twin bed after my mother's glorious, tragic and somewhat entertaining nervous breakdown.)


"If i die, i would like to lie in state in a cascde of broken ice chips (not cubes, cubes will not be right for the occasion.)  In the ice there will be stations for fresh rolls, then roast beef, turkey, ham, assorted salads and dressings. Should there be a hot station, too? If so, that's where the rolls should be. Also, a rotissere chicken or a tri-tip might be nice. Let's talk soup, too. Something in a bisque, a crab or tomato. The last stop, would be my feet, is where people will help themselves to one or several imported beers. So in essence, if we can steal one of those huge salad bar stations Whole Foods, I'm good."

I know, I'm bizarre. If you haven't figured that out yet, really, what can I do?

Can You Die Of Humiliation???

So last night I'm at my weekly "Project Runway" Party where we all gather for dinner and wine and gossip and overall fashion cattiness. It has become the highlight of my week and as my friend R put it, "The weekend officially starts on Wednesdays." (Which for me, being unemployed, it could offcially start at 10:45am on a Monday... not that I'm bragging.)

Anyway, one of the beauties brought this gorgeous box of Christmas chocolates and it was passed around until it came to me in which the hostess swooped in and said, "NO CANDY FOR YOU, I'VE READ YOUR BLOG." At which point, I was really humiliated because for 1, don't really want my blog used againist me and 2, I know the blog IS OUT THERE FOR THE WORLD TO SEE, but some people there were strangers and I really don't want them knowing that I AM OBSESSED WITH MY FAT ASS.

The Hostess then metaphorically wagged her finger in front of me, letting me know, I, MYSELF, THE POSSESER OF SAID FAT ASS, had blogged about wishing my friends had said something to me while I was in my deepest depression and couldn't see for myself that my OWN ASS WAS GROWNING IT'S OWN ASS. To which I say, GO REREAD the entry, "OH, MY GOD, YOU'RE SO FAT, CONGRATULATIONS!"

Because I'm pretty sure for all it said, IT DID NOT SAY, YANK A BOX OF CHOCOLATES AWAY FROM ME and embarass me in front of strangers.

That said, those fancy chocolates weren't that good so I stole a Santa Hershey bar from one of Hostesses' kids and ate it on the way home.